My chickens are cooler than your chickens…literally.

I’ve been waiting to do a post titled, “Weird Things I Think”, but after reviewing my complied notes on the subject, a fear of looking too weird crept into my mind for the very first time. Instead, I’ll interject these thoughts randomly, throughout the year, to spare you the awkwardness of having to “unfollow” my blog.

What do you think about while waiting in line at the grocery store? What thought pops into your head while you fill your tank with gas, or drive from one place to another? I think, “I hope my chickens are okay.” That’s not too weird. But it gets worse.

What do you think about on vacation? What thoughts do you have right before you set out on a fun hike or walk? Perhaps you’re going to see fireworks or eat out at your favorite Portland food cart. I think, “I really wish my chickens could come enjoy this.”

Yes. I actually thought that. I caught myself though, before I said it aloud. Instead I was able to go, “Woah…Matt…you’ll never believe what I just thought.” It’s happened a few times. Deduced down to its motives it’s obvious to see that I have a great deal of love for my chickens and it manifests itself in my wanting to spend time with them and care for them. All very innocent and not at all weird…right?

Anyway, I’m sure SO many of you are wondering, “Well Haley, how do you keep your hens cool on these very hot, hot days?” There have been more than a few 80 degree days this summer when I’m out back, looking at the ladies and wondering if they are miserable. And actually, keeping your chickens cool in summer can be more important than making sure they are warm in winter. Hens can hold and create heat pretty easily, but can’t escape their down coat when it suddenly sky-rockets to 85+ degrees here in Ptown. So here is what I’ve learned and anyone who loves their chickens even a fraction as much as I do, will find it interesting.

1. Water, water, and more water. Change it every day. I put cool water outside in the shade, which I change every afternoon, when it’s the hottest outside. They also have access to cool water in their run and there is a bowl in their coop. The sun comes up well before I get up and actually let them out. So I find them drinking in the morning, when the temp in their coop is already rising.

2. Provide shade. Even if this means you have to set up a tarp somewhere. Imagine if the only place you could go to get away from the heat was your overheated house? Imagine it had one small opening and a bunch of poop all over the ground that was heating up too. That’s the chicken coop people. We often open the large coop door and try to cool it off inside also, but it’s nothing compared to a nice shady spot outside for your hen.

3. Dust to bathe. If your ladies don’t already have a spot to take a dust bath, make one for them. Put some fine dry dirt in an old box and let them go to town. Spreading their feathers and kicking soft, cool dirt on their skin, can cool a chicken off real fast.

4. Mist. I take a hose and mist down the shaded ground around the yard (or whatever shade they have access to). They hate it when I bring the hose out, but right when it’s obvious I’m finished, they make their way over to the cool ground and usually park there until it’s evaporated, dust bathing and pecking around.

5. Provide cool treats. If you’ve got leftover watermelon or cantaloupe, give it to your chickens. They will freak. At first maybe not so much, but eventually they will eat it down until the rind is paper thin. I’ve chopped up frozen bananas, dished up cold plain yogurt, and given them berries that were no good to me anymore. When it’s really hot, just plain ice is a good way to keep things cool. Add cubes to their water (they’ll find it weird) and even throw crushed ice around for them to peck.

So there you have it. Now go forth and think weird thoughts.

She’s back.

Finally, after about 11 weeks of being broody, Lyra, the “chicken hawk”, has regained her mental capacity and composure, and come out of the nesting box to resume her life as a backyard chicken.

 She did not survive her self-inflicted ordeal unscathed however. She is significantly thinner and her poor little comb is grayish and flopped over.

But she doesn’t care. In fact, she acts like she’s on top of her game. She is the only one who can jump up on the fence. So she does it all the time…then flies/flings herself off, aiming straight for and often landing on another hen.

 She also sits on the fence for long periods of time watching Matt work on his projects in the garage. I have a great view of her from the dining room.

 Her reappearance has definitely added a new vibe to the backyard scene. But I’m mostly excited to get some green/blue eggs again. Our eggs have been looking so…so boringly brownish.

Guild Update

Two of the three sisters are looking awesome if I do say so myself.

Some moles have come dangerously close to uprooting the corn and therefore dangerously close to death by shovel or glaring stare and flailing fists of anger.

A few more weeks and we’ll get to plant the missing link, the beans. Sigh…it’s weird how relaxing looking at growing plants is. What’s that all about?

 And it turns out that chard and other hardy greens bolt really quickly. I’m used to leisurely picking leafy salad greens for weeks. But in about 2 weeks, these greens were flowering and tasting much more bitter than normal. So I pulled them to make room for more of what we eat most. Plus it made Miss Marple happy.

These two missed out. Lyra was too busy being a broody…brat. As you can see she’s all turned around, ready to protect the eggs she’s hiding. And Amelia can’t be bothered with Lyra’s attitude, so she lays next door.

Urban farm life is sort of fascinating.

Hen Momma

I told you. They love me.

And for good reason…

…I love them in return.

A Brood Awakening

I should start a new joke series: “You know you’re a legit chicken owner when…when a hen poops on you, you just wipe it off and call it good.”

Yup. Gross. But it’s more convenient not to care.

We’ve got our first broody hen in the family. She’s been sitting on her nest for about 4 weeks now. Our grand plan was to slip her some chicks to raise, but we’ve been so busy, we haven’t really been around to get it all set up.

For those of you confused, a broody hen is one who is trying to hatch her eggs. In this case, even without a rooster around her instincts tell her, “It’s time…hatch these babies.” So she sits…and sits….and sits some more. Until one day, even as much as 10 weeks later, she realizes it’s not gonna happen and snaps out of it. In the meantime, she gets pretty temperamental. They puff themselves up like a basketball and make a freakish clucking/growl sound. Sometimes pecking at you when you try to collect the eggs. This is Lyra in a trance in the early morning…she’s puffed up to about half her normal size.

Hens have been known to starve themselves to death because they won’t get off the nest to eat. So, once a day or so, you have to grab them off the nest and put them in the yard, forcing them to eat, drink and poop. We have found that the other hens will sometimes kick her out when they want to lay. She’ll run around the yard, squawking, flapping her wings. She’ll run up to me and grab onto my pant leg with her beak and swing herself around squealing. It’s really quite terrifying actually, haha. Then she’ll dust bathe, eat, poop and growl some more before jumping back in and adopting any newly laid eggs. And yes, we collect the eggs (which for some weird reason I feel bad about) because otherwise they rot. But even with an empty nest…she sits and waits. Here is Lyra in full-blown brood:

But I get it, she’s supposed to be terrifying. She’s being maternal. I just kept wondering why on Earth, would she be such a jerk to the other hens? They’ll walk up to her when she’s out dust-bathing like, “Hey…haven’t seen you in a while. Good to see you out. I’ll join you for a bath.” They’ll attempt to join her and she’ll puff up, squawk and usually get pecked by the other hens. I know she is “protecting” her eggs, but really, the hens aren’t even near the coop! I read that it’s about more than just protection, it’s a hen’s way of preventing chicks from bonding with other hens. So even though Lyra doesn’t have chicks yet, she’s keeping everyone else from joining any bit of the experience. They are her babies and when her chicks hatch, they need to know that.

But eeerrrrr…how to tell her she’s sitting on my breakfast? Well, I’m over it at this point. At first it was fascinating and cute. Now…it just is. Snap out of it Lyra and get back to laying eggs!

The Three Musketeers

Before I leave to go anywhere, I check on the ladies, just to make sure they are all there. Two of them can slide under the fence. The other one is too fat to do so and doesn’t even attempt it. They usually only escape when they hear me working in the garden and want to join in. They’ll slip out and help me weed. I’ll usually go grab Amelia (the fat yellow one) so she doesn’t feel left out.

But we have had reports from a couple of neighbors that they were spotted wandering around outside the confines of their lovely fenced yard, which is worrisome to me. Loose dogs, angry kids, large mean cats…these are all common predators in urban chicken life.

So before I left the house yesterday I went out back, peered over the fence…no chickens. It wasn’t raining…so they weren’t under the coop staying dry. “Heeerrrre chick, chick, chiiick.” No chickens. Every single time I walk into the back yard, the run to me. No exception. This time…nada.

I looked around our small backyard highly confused. I opened the coop, peered in…no chickens. I looked behind the compost and the bushes…No chickens. I walked around the house…no chickens. I peered into neighbors yards and under their porches…no chickens.

Okay at this point I’m panicking, assuming that they were all three carried off by the Bald Eagle residents of the Willamette River, which is three blocks from our house. I walked back into the yard again…my hopes dashed, feeling quite helpless and sad. I basically started screeching, “Chick, chick, chick, chick, chick, chick, CCHHIIIICCCKKK.” “HEEERREEEE CHICK CHICK CHIIIICK!”

They must have been able to understand what that call was communicating, which was, “Please, oh please say you are here!” “I’m freaking out ladies!!” Because the next sound I heard was a soft and distant, “Bbbuurrrrrrrruuck”. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from! I heard it again, a little louder this time, “Bbuuurrrruckcluck!”

It sounded like it was coming from the direction of the coop, where I had already looked. But I ran over there anyways and looked inside where I didn’t see anything. But sure enough loud and clear, “Buurruuucckclcuk!” I basically crawled inside and when I did so, I realized I had never checked the laying boxes. Why would I!? They were all missing and all three of them can’t cram into one laying box! Plus usually, if they’re not too into the egg-laying process, they actually run out of the laying box when I come outside.

But here is what I found.

All three of them, crammed into the box. They stood up when I opened the lid, appalled that I would do such a thing while they were in the middle of such a thing. Amelia (the yellow one) was quite upset, as you can see by her raised feathers. She always acts a little broody. I know flocks of chickens like to share laying boxes, to lay in “community” if you will. But this is not a typical sight. Sometimes two but not ever all three.

Anyway I snapped a picture, which captured their death stares but doesn’t capture the low, growly clucks that were getting thrown my way. I closed the lid and heard the clucks fade away as they began to nestle back into position. These hens are so neurotic. Honestly though, I’m just glad they’re not eagle snacks.

Babies come in all shapes and sizes…

…and colors and textures.

For example this lovely lady. She happens to be yellow and covered with soft feathers.

But she’s my baby nonetheless. In fact, she (Amelia) is my favorite. Can’t you see the adoration in my eyes? Maybe this will have to be next year’s Christmas photo. Don’t tell Miss Marple or she might go on another psycho pecking rampage.

Pulling Weeds + Child Labor = Acceptable.

Sometimes, when you see what you let become of your raised beds over the winter months…it can get depressing. You can’t stop thinking about the time when it was all pretty, the soil was dark and smooth, and edible wonderfulness grew as far as the eye could see. It’s a big job getting beds back to a vegetable-worthy state. So we needed big help.

Enter, the Nephew.

We had no idea pulling weeds could be so much fun.

Great excitement ensued when we realized that we were unearthing all sorts of chicken snacks. That is, snacks for chickens.

Worms, centipedes, slugs and even a beetle were promptly captured and supplied to the pleasantly surprised hens.

First we threw the snacks over the fence…

Then we threw snacks under the fence…

Then we got real lazy…

Gradually, weeding and feeding turned into playing. “Let’s walk through the jungle”. “AAHHH I see a lion over there!” “I’m trapped in the dirt pit!”

“Okay, I wanna go inside now. I want egg nog.”…

…”Mmhhmm…How does chocolate milk sound?”

Working Hard.

I don’t know if you know this, but laying an egg is hard work. I dare you to YouTube “hen lays an egg”. Woah.

 I thought hens just puffed up, sat down and looked cute for a while…like above…then suddenly they stand up and there is a lovely egg. Not so. But it makes you appreciate these amazing animals. When Amelia, who lays the largest eggs, lays a particularly big one…I like to hold her, warm her up, give her a special treat. “Hope you’re okay Amelia…that must have been traumatic. But good job. It’s over now, until tomorrow. Thanks for doing what you do…the result is delicious.” I’m pretty sure the neighbors have overheard me.

Miss Marple, out from under her shell, has finally cracked.

Miss Marple, our Australorp hen, has developed a bad attitude. She’s obviously the one in charge. She knows it, she knows the other hens know it and she knows I know it. She walks around scrambling to get the treat or worm that the other chickens are enjoying. “You’re scratching there, I’m going to scratch there!”, “You’re dust bathing there, get out, it’s my turn!”, “Why are you laying an egg right now!? Whhhyy!!? Move over I’m coming in!”.

Before you think I’m stranger than you realized by putting words in my chicken’s mouth, you should know one thing. She squawks constantly, this is just my interpretation of her squawks. Ugh, it’s a little exhausting to listen to. On the weekends when we are a little slower to get up and open the coop (mind you the sun will have just started to show itself) you will be woken by a lovely, “SQUUAAAWWWKK!…bok, bok, bok…bbaaaaSQUAAAWK!”. Yeah, you can hear it in our bedroom, which is at the complete other end of the property. Last weekend when I got up to this racket (7:30 am) and walked out there to open the coop, Miss Marple literally through her entire body weight at the window, smacking it with so much force I actually gasped and had to regroup. Did rabies somehow infect my flock?

I opened the little coop door, Miss Marple pushes her way past everyone else, walks out onto the landing blocking the others from getting out, looks up towards me and “bok, bok, SQUAAAAAAWWK!” She then runs out into the yard to her favorite grassy spot like she deserves to graze at her leisure.

What a pill. It gets worse. Usually I bring treats out to my chickens, probably once a day. Some oatmeal, left over lettuce or veggies, a heel of bread…that cooked pasta I didn’t use, stuff like that. Of course Miss Marple is on the front lines, usually jumping up a couple feet in the air to peck at whatever is in my hand before I put it down. No biggie. However, I went out there last week just to hang, collect eggs, ya know. Miss Marple runs up, thinking I’ll have a treat. When she’s pretty sure I don’t have one, she leaps up and pecks my thigh so hard she broke the skin through my freaking jeans! “What the hell!? Miss Marple chill, chill!” That’s me yelling at Miss Marple as she follows me around the yard. Holy crap! She always does this neck swaying thing right before she swoops in for that kind of maneuver. It’s a little creepy.

What Miss Marple doesn’t know is that I was a psychology major. I know how she learned that I always bring treats and I know how get her to unlearn it. So for the past 8 days every time I walk into the yard for the first time, Miss Marple and company come running…”treats, treats, treats.” I wait for Miss Marple to walk right up to me and do that neck craning thing she does as she inspects my hands…then…swoop! I lean down quickly which forces Miss Marple and the other birds actually, to crouch down (remember the sexual crouch?). I pick her up and just hold her.

Miss Marple actually falls asleep when she’s picked up. So I pick her up and hold her for a long time while scratching her neck, warming her feet. She dozes in and out of consciousness while quietly uttering soft clucks. Then, I slowly and calmly set her down. She stands there a little dazed, ruffles her feathers and walks away.

This morning ladies and gentleman, I walked into the yard and when Miss Marple ran up to me, I barely leaned forward at all. She crouched instantaneously. When I didn’t swoop in on her she stood up a little confused, turned, trotted a couple of feet away and started eating grass, ignoring me completely. Aaahhhh, I love classical conditioning. It’s still a work in progress. For example she doesn’t like me picking up the other birds. She’ll run at me and try to peck my hand as I’m grabbing them. It really pisses her off to see them getting attention.

Funny though how chickens are so much like people. The ones who look like they have it all, the best grassy spots and treats, the sunniest patch of dirt, the nicest spot on the roost, do not lead a peaceful existence. Their life is a constant battle to keep up with others, have more than others, take from others. Be better at any cost…even if it means hurting others. From sun up to sun down, it consumes them. Nothing ever satisfies. Other people’s happiness is threatening. People who behave like Miss Marple alienate themselves. Who wants to hang with Miss Marple? Everyone is trying to get away from her. They don’t want to take part in the war she’s started. It’s the life of the other hens that I want. They get something taken from them and they shrug it off and look for something else. They don’t look worried or stressed. They actually pause, let the wind ruffle their feathers, smell the air, turn their face to the sun and close their eyes. I love watching them do that. I like to think it’s them enjoying their life, happy to be alive.

Probably not, but just let me think that okay?